Desire Flourishing
J. Quinn Brisben
She looks; I listen.
I write; she paints.
She covers the walls;
I fill the shelves.
I drive; she stitches.
She displays her portfolio;
I harangue the masses.
I admire each day
The William Morris pillows
Stitched so carefully at
One square inch per hour
While she listened to me
Read Faulkner and I knew
When to breathe as the words
Cascaded. Later we traded
Lines from old movies:
“A perfectly tip-top name.”
“A girl, an adolescent girl.”
“Not unlike the Mona Lisa.”
“Boy, you watch that knife.”
And so to bed under
The color-wheel quilt
And the accustomed warmth
Beyond sight and sound.
